Masque of the Red Death
by Alexander Ruse
Summary: Based on Edgar Allen Poe's "Masque of the Red Death." Written from Death's point of view.


Prologue  
  
I, the "Red Death" had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal. Or so hideous, they said. Blood is my avatar and my seal - oh, the redness and horror of blood. I gave sharp pains and sudden dizziness, and then the profuse bleeding started. Oh how I loved it. I always gave scarlet stains upon their body, and especially upon my victim's face. Then the whole seizure progress and the termination of the disease were the incidents of about half an hour.  
Everyone is afraid of me, but I can't tell why. I travel from place to place, attracted to the scent of blood and the feel of sorrow. Traveling place to place, going to ones whom have summoned me. 'Summon?' you ask. Why, yes. For, you see, the smell of sorrow is the sweetest smell of all. It is like the scent of roses and wine. The spellbinding pleasure of a sense of sorrow is as exactly the same, if not different, from that of a nosferatu drawn to blood. For, you see, sorrow gives out the scent, and I go to it. When someone is sorrowful, they normally wish to stop being sorrowful - that's where I come in. I am a healer of sorrow, you see. Having located the sense, (For, you see, my sensing techniques is like that of the smelling ability of a dog.) I go to the pathetic, sorrowful victim. For, in their own special way, they let out the sorrowful scent. And I go and cure them of their own sorrow. Simple, yes? .Not especially. Occasionally, when there's not a lot of business, those that are sorrowful are sorrowful on account of another, and I'm hired to execute the dictator of the sorrow. Simple put, I am a demon of vengeance. With the slightest little effort of my ghost-like charm, I have seen grown men give out a shriek. This was no exception.  
  
Prince Prospero encounters "The Red Death."  
  
I was hired to meet with one man named "Prince Prospero." I didn't know where to look first, for, you see, he has been in hiding. All those millions whom "Prince Prospero" have tortured were finally calling out. The taxes, the torture and the way he treated his people sickened even me. And I'm not hard to sicken. Down in his dungeon there are more scenes of gore and terror then even I.well. maybe not I, but other humans have never seen before. Literally gut-wrenching machines which pierced through the abdomen of the victims while they were tied and gagged. Another held the head of a victim, while a long, thing heated needle was pierced through the side of an eye, until it bursts through the other. The needle was left, piercing both eyes until the victim died or spoke. Even after they spoke, he fed the blind, foolish victim to the dogs. After years of the torture, the families and citizens (what was left) gave such a sense of sorrow that I felt it across the world. I got there as soon as I can, for, you see, sorrow is my job. The victims cried and cried over the loss of their family, friends and even those whom they didn't know. I didn't even need explaining (They couldn't, anyway.) For, you see, I could tell what was happening. A horrible dictator killing his own people, blah blah blah. I've heard it all before. Nothing new. So I discreetly agreed, while they didn't know, I went in search of the "Prince Prospero." An nervous song. Then utter, terrible silence. Ten clangs of a dull, monotonous clock was heard. Then the song continued. Over and over, a throbbing noise thundered the steep halls, which I stood. Pervading down, onto where the party was held. The masks of Mine victims were grotesque. This home where the Prince resided for the past six months or so was abhorrent. A dark shade of blue massed on the floor through a window. The night sky was beautiful. As I looked out, graciously, I had a sense of peacefulness and calm. Not for long though. I seamlessly floated down the many, many twisted halls of the home. The dark blue shadow altered to a shady purple, then to a green. It seemed as I was walking down an ugly rainbow as I swept down the halls. It seemed farther, which each foot I got closer, it seemed to brush me away as if to block me. After walking down the aura of a dove and a flower I reached what I like to call the "black room." This was the only room that pleased me. Simple, yet determined and forceful it came upon me threateningly. Eleven clangs of a dull, monotonous clock was heard. After a few moments in deep thought, I decided to go out. For, you see, the sight of the "black room" made me recall "Prince Prospero's" dungeon. After excusing myself from the corpses, I continued my journey. An unusual sound passed through mine ears. Music. An orchestra. A room which seemed to emit a glow of pestilence and unlicensed. A light, half subdued laughter floated as I got near. Many tinted windows let in the lush; about to be bloodstained light of the moon. Across the room, I noticed a large ebony clock, which seemed to be ringing according to what I was thinking. I stepped in; the music played and glanced around the dance floor. Nobody seemed to notice me. I watched the fools dance for a bit. I watched the buffoons, the improvisatori and the ballet dancers. The musicians and beauty and the lovely, lovely wine. I watched as the people drowned themselves in their own greed and rash logic. The masked ones wanted to, I suppose, conceal their own true features. They may have been thieves or tramps, whom, even in their youth, sold themselves for the trade. They could have been brutally beaten as children and grown up to be disturbed and twisted individuals. They could have tortured small animals and killed them as toddlers and grow up to slit throats for a few dollars. But.while on the dance floor, they were what they wore atop their faces. A colorful, smiling jester. Or perhaps a mischievous and witty feline. On the dance floor, they left all their past behind them and waltz their way to happiness. Unfortunately.I could not forget their past. Twelve clangs came from the ebony clock. The music stopped suddenly and everyone's heart stopped for a second or two. Everyone stopped and hearkened to the clock. It seemed, that the clock with it's short twelve beats attempted to warm them. Fortunately, nobody speaks clock. After pausing their impending doom, they finally relaxed. I smiled. A few people turned and noticed me. Everyone there wore bright colors of lush red and orange and the masks had intricate details of the masks made their faces look like corpses in comparison. And although I wore nothing but the face of a deadman and some hand-me-down clothing doesn't mean they all needed to stare, although I might of looked a bit out of place. And I have just Healed somebody the day before; my clothes were draped in a few splotches of blood. Looking around, I sense a bit of urgency from the crowd. I was wondering exactly which one was "Prince Prospero", for, you see, I can't even tell. The people were unbelievably grotesque. I couldn't tell which one was the "Prince" until one of the members of the bleak crowd got reddened with anger and lashed out. "Who dares? Who dares insult us with this blasphemous mockery? Seize and unmask him - that we may know whom we have to hang at sunrise, from the battlements!" Mask? I wasn't wearing a mask! I looked from person to person. White face..white face.red face.white face. Most were afraid of me but that one. I wanted to get this over with. The prince was quite far atop, near the dark blue shadows. I begin my journey again, to my victim. My footsteps replaced the clangs of the clock as I walked. The terror of the crowd kept them glued to the ground. My loud steps were death tolls to the prince. The Prince, pulsating with anger took the first step, fortunately. Reaching for a hidden dagger, he pulled out the magnificent but worthless weapon. I stopped in a moment. In a solitary moment of cohesiveness, he sprinted at me and thrust his dagger into mine own abdomen, like the dungeon victims. Another solitary moment. At a point, we were one. Until I saw the pure terror in his eyes when he knew that I was nothing. In an instant, there was a sharp cry and the magnificent dagger fell to the ground in deadly defeat. As it's master fell down atop it, his life, his being and his pupils incinerated. How could his fellow partygoers stand this? A few courageous (or foolish) ones came up and attempted to pin me down, but as they're party host found out, I'm untenanted by any tangible form. Dead. They all died via mine own hand. Now the wonderfully ugly rainbow hall fell into one deep crimson red. Red on the clock.red on the walls.red under my feet. Flames went out. The lighted room darkened, never to light again. I came like a thief in the night. One by one I dropped the revellers in the now blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and they died each in a despairing posture of their fall. After they all had found my power, the clocked stopped. It's death toll expired, and the life of the host along with the others, also expired with the clock. At last, you see, my job is complete. Going back in search of sorrow, I go about my business. For, you see, I am a demon of vengeance. There's only one way you could never attract me and it's relatively simple, and any fool can do it. Happiness is easy. And as you've seen, the Darkness and Decay and me, the "Red Death" held illimitable domination over all.  
  
The end. 


End file.
